


A Hundred Days in Wunderland

by aHostileRainbow



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Character Study, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Other, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aHostileRainbow/pseuds/aHostileRainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One hundred moments chronicling the length and breadth of the wonders of Underland. A 100 prompt challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

Hatter smiled brightly at the little thing at his table. Alice, she called herself. Well, this Alice certainly was interesting. Watching her, his eerie, gleaming eyes unfocused, thoughts and visions and words he'd yet to say, things this little girl had yet to do flashed across his mind, starbursts that burned and burst a thousand times in a single moment. Yes, quite interesting was this Alice. He hummed a little ditty, offered her some more tea. And this was only the beginning.


	2. Middles

Time passed slowly at this point. There was little to define one day from the next, one hour, one month, one year that had passed. Then five years. Then ten years. The inhabitants of Underland went about their daily routines. Tea parties were held, gardens were tended, pipes were smoked. Everyone seemed to be hanging in a limbo, the _time between_. Alice had gone. But she would be back. All they had to do now…was wait.


	3. Endings

He stared blankly at the place where she had stood, just a few feet from him. She was gone. Alice was gone. He was never sure up till a moment ago that he was even sane enough to suffer heartbreak. Now he knew. Because this…was more painful than the Horuvendesh Day. Even when he had watched his whole world collapse in flames around him, he had known he would eventually move on, that Underland would continue and change and grow. But this—one girl's exit from the story…felt like the end.


	4. Hours

He stared at his silent pocket watch suspiciously. He shook it…nothing. He tapped it gently upon the nearby wall…not a sound. He tapped it again, not so gently…still only silence. Nivens glared at the apparently faulty piece of time-keeping equipment, his deeply personal offense at a time-keeper that did not do its job apparent upon his whiskery face and in the rigid set of his furry back beneath his waistcoat. He was the White Rabbit. He was Nivens McTwisp. His watches did not  _fail_. In his mounting upset, Nivens threw the deplorably lazy pocket watch at the stone wall before him, indulging in a March Hare-esque show of temper.

It would not be until several hours later that the White Queen herself would come upon the form of a waistcoated White Rabbit, knocked out cold on the marble floor, a large, purpling lump clear upon his head. In her concern, she hardly took notice of the quietly ticking, dented brass pocket watch beside him.


	5. Days

The days were long and the nights were longer. She missed them, truly, with all of her heart. She knew she had to be here, had to be in the flat, grey Overworld. Her reasons remained the same.

But she did miss them all, terribly. They were the friends of her heart and soul and spirit, the best she could ever ask or hope for. And they were hers. She left them. Alice stared blankly at the wall of her tiny cabin aboard the  _Adversity_  and could not help but wonder if she had made the right choice. What if she had stayed? What if this had all been a terrible mistake?

A thump sounded at her cabin door and she rose from her place at the porthole to take the five quiet steps to the pitted piece of wood. On the other side a crewman she had become acquainted with earlier recommended that she take a moment to step up on deck. Confused, but willing to take advantage of any distraction from her melancholic musings, Alice accepted politely and followed the man up to the deck.

When they had climbed the last stair, Alice understood. Spread before them was a wild, intricate tapestry of every color she could ever imagine and every impossibility she could have dreamed as the sun set over a gentle sea. Her eyes wide, Alice felt her spirits lift and strode to the bow for the best view. She leaned upon the sturdy rail and smiled as a familiar butterfly fluttered past her nose.

The nights may be long and the days may be longer, but she would not miss this for the world.


	6. Weeks

Absolem puffed absently on his pipe, drawing slow, steady breaths and releasing them with the fine control learned over many years of practice, week after week. She was coming.

He could feel her arrival like an itch under his skin, a heaviness in the air that belied the calm before the storm. Even from this distance, he knew that spirit, changed and shrunken as it may be. She was not ready—but she would be. All he had to do now was wait and interject at just the right moments, let the rest sort itself out and the path of destiny would follow smoothly.

She was Alice, and not, but she would be. In the coming days her trials would be many and trying, but she would survive and grow. His brow wrinkled as he focused before releasing a deliberate puff on his pipe. A smoky figure lunged through the air, sword raised high.

_Hmm…_ Yes. Alice would do well.


	7. Months

Mirana sighed into her teacup. It had been months since she had seen her sister. They had never gotten on well, but their last parting had been particularly…volatile. She sighed again and reached for a plain glass vial with an engraved lavender flower on the front. Pulling the stopper, she poured two drops into her tea, figuring a little help with her calm would be necessary for her continued thought process. She took a tiny sip and smiled as some of the tension loosened in her neck—she was still a bit new at the business of potion-making on her own and worried.

She worried a lot, actually, about many things. She worried about what she was going to do when her parents were gone, since they were aging and she knew they didn't have much longer. She did not really want to be a Queen, to have all of Underland watching her and expecting her to know what to do. A spark of frustration flared but died just as abruptly. This shouldn't have been her duty, it should have been Iracebeth's, but after that last fight with their parents…there was no chance of the elder sister inheriting the throne. Mirana would have to make do.

On top of those worries, she worried for her dear pet, the kitten Strastus, whom had taken ill of late and refused to improve despite the dozens of potions she fed him. She worried for her beloved potions instructor, the fiery old woman who had taught her to stand up straight and take pride in herself at her worst points. The old woman had sent her off months ago and Mirana worried about her on her own, with her weak joints and stubborn refusal to ask for aid.

But right at that moment, she was worried about her sister. Iracebeth had grown colder as she grew older and though Mirana loved her sister, truly she did, she could not get through to her. Iracebeth was angry and bitter and cruel and her little sister didn't have any idea how to help her. So she worried and fretted and tried to keep herself distracted.

But it had been months and  _nothing_ …She sighed a third time. Usually, even when they fought, Iracebeth would at least send her a letter every month or so. Mirana went to sigh again, but shook herself. Sighing would not help anything.

Maybe she would try to write Iracebeth, herself. Firming her resolve, Mirana stood and crossed her wide, sunlit rooms to the desk, drawing some parchment and an ink pen from the occasionally transparent top shelf and settling in her seat.

_Dearest sister…_


	8. Shore

The view from the shore was glorious, Absolem had to admit. He settled back upon his mushroom and blew a careful ring of smoke from his pipe, observing as the pristine view was warped in its wake. He hummed thoughtfully, divining some bit of foresight, of knowledge, from the shades and chiaroscuro as he always did. He could not explain it, not even to himself.

The dark waves lapped at the shoreline, eating it away gradually. From where he sat, it often appeared that the rest of the world was growing or shrinking or otherwise  _shifting_ , though, so he found himself unconcerned. He was able to watch the sea only on such rare days as this, that came rarer than a wind or a flying pig, yet more often than a Jabberwock. They were to be treasured. Thus, he took another careful puff on his well-tended pipe and released a rush of smoke, shaping with patience and practice until the view was again warped, but for the better.

The sea expanded before his eyes and he sighed in content as the waves seemed to swirl beyond and within his breath. It was such a rare happening and he wanted the prismatic shore to take all of his attention.


	9. Purple

Tarrant tugged thoughtfully at his hair, carefully scrutinizing his reflection. Blue? No, his skin was much too pale. Dye it blue and he'd look like he was perpetually drowning. Red? Purple? He sighed. Well, purple was a good color, he supposed. He liked purple. Green was pleasant, too. But he definitely preferred purple…white? His eyes widened and he giggled at himself, picturing white hair to go with his chalky skin and electric green eyes. He could probably pass for one of those Overland ghosts! No, not white, not blue, not red, not green, not purple…maybe, orange?

Tarrant's eyes narrowed, he leaned into the mirror and scrubbed some specks off it. He took a step back to get a good look at himself and grinned. Orange. Orange would be perfect.


	10. Family

Bayard pressed his head harshly against the eye of the telescope Alice offered him. It took just a second for his view to focus and then he saw them. Barking and howling his joy, he galloped through the corridors of the White Queen's beautiful palace, skidding around corners and courtiers alike with little regard for the disarray left in his wake. Pounding feet echoed behind him and he knew Alice was running, too.

He turned the last corner and slammed through the great doors left ajar. Tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted, he zeroed in on his mate and pups. With a canine grin he slowed so as not to overrun them and was promptly overrun himself by his excitable pups. His wife followed more sedately, picking her way forward to nuzzle him, sharing in his relief and delight.

His grin widened as he rolled to bounce his pups. He had his family back. His family was safe.


End file.
